But to my heart she cannot be 1836.]

[Variant 11: 

1807.

  And I grow happy while I speak,
  Kiss, kiss me, Baby, thou art good.  MS.]

[Variant 12: 

1820.

  ... that quiet face, 1807.]

[Variant 13: 

1807.

  A Joy, a Comforter thou art;
  Sunshine and pleasure to my heart;
  And love and hope and mother’s glee, MS.]

[Variant 14: 

1807.

  My yearnings are allayed by thee,
  My heaviness is turned to glee.  MS.]

* * * * *

SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Sub-Footnote a:  In a letter to Barron Field (24th Oct. 1828), Wordsworth says that his substitution of the text of 1827 for that of 1807, was due to the objections of Coleridge.—­Ed.]

* * * * *

TO THE CUCKOO

Composed 1802.—­Published 1807

[Composed in the Orchard at Town-end, 1804.—­I.F.]

One of the “Poems of the Imagination.”—­Ed.

  O blithe New-comer!  I have heard,
  I hear thee and rejoice. 
  O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,
  Or but a wandering Voice? [A]

  While I am lying on the grass 5
  Thy twofold shout I hear,
  From hill to hill it seems to pass,
  At once far off, and near. [1]

  Though babbling only to the Vale,
  Of sunshine and of flowers, 10
  Thou bringest unto me a tale [2]
  Of visionary hours.

  Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! 
  Even yet thou art to me
  No bird, but an invisible thing, [3] 15
  A voice, a mystery;

  The same whom in my school-boy days
  I listened to; that Cry
  Which made me look a thousand ways
  In bush, and tree, and sky. 20

  To seek thee did I often rove
  Through woods and on the green;
  And thou wert still a hope, a love;
  Still longed for, never seen.

  And I can listen to thee yet; 25
  Can lie upon the plain
  And listen, till I do beget
  That golden time again.

  O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
  Again appears to be 30
  An unsubstantial, faery place;
  That is fit home for Thee!

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1: 

1845.

  While I am lying on the grass,
  I hear thy restless shout: 
  From hill to hill it seems to pass,
  About, and all about! 1807.

  Thy loud note smites my ear!—­
  From hill to hill it seems to pass,
  At once far off and near! 1815.